


Hostería de Graciela

by bismoran



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, HIV/AIDS, M/M, Multi, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-17
Updated: 2013-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-26 20:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bismoran/pseuds/bismoran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bobby and Frank drive down to Texas. Frank runs into an old flame. And no one knows yet what's coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hostería de Graciela

February 1981.

The dusty Texas road looked particularly pretty at night, especially considering it was a desert. The sky was so purple it was almost black and Bobby, in his head, swore he had never seen as many stars anywhere else. They seemed to litter the night sky, seeming to touch the mesas.

"S'pretty out here," he commented gruffly to Frank.

Frank nodded in agreement. "S'why I like making the drive at night; makes it easier and you get a good view."

"Shitty reception though," Bobby gestured to the radio, which had a station playing Spanish language covers of English rock songs fizzling in and out.

Frank nodded again.

"The Mexicans know we're coming, right?" Bobby asked after about twenty minutes of silence.

Frank looked at him. Unlike usual, he wasn't smiling. He looked puzzled. Like he was trying to figure out how this pretty place was made. He rubbed at his left hand. "Don't call them the Mexicans. They don't like it."

"Whatda I call them then?" Bobby asked. His voice wasn't aggravated or annoyed. But curious.

"Seyados. It's the word they use for hunters…our type of hunters."

Bobby nodded. "Seyados," he repeated.

Frank smiled. "Yeah."

Silence set in for a few more miles.

"Why'd you want to come?" Bobby asked. "Coulda handled it myself."

"You would have called them 'The Mexicans'."

"You didn't know that."

"I know you."

"Bullshit. Why'd you really come?"

Frank smirked and gestured zipping his lips closed.

"Idjiot," Bobby murmured under his breath, smiling fondly as they drove into the night, the A/C on high.

They got to a small bar off the side of the road called 'Hostería de Graciela' around midnight. There was a small gravel parking lot marked off by bricks to the right of the building and above the door was a wooden carving of two pearl-handled and ornately carved pistols crossed, with smoke coming out of them. A blackboard in the window bore the message 'DINERO AMERICANO SÓLO', and underneath was the names and prices of all the drinks.

Bobby walked inside. "So, who's El Jefe?"

"Don't call him that. His name is Ramón," Frank said. "And that's him." He pointed to a tall, fat dark skinned man in a t-shirt and jeans, with a beard and a moustache sitting in the corner, drinking with a few of his cronies. "I'm gonna go grill his son and see what I can find out from him about how to take down an el sobreón."

Bobby nodded and walked towards the big guy.

Frank walked by the man he was looking for's table twice, making sure the other man saw him, then, through the side door, he walked outside.

Five minutes later, the other man followed.

"Hey Frank," he greeted in English, walking over to Frank, his hand barely brushing over the other man's.

"Hey Aarón" Frank said, swallowing, looking at the other man in the starlight. Aarón looked well. Healthy. His hair was well groomed and he had a fashionable moustache, just like Burt Reynold's. He wore a clean western snap shirt and jeans. And to Frank, he was beautiful.  
"It's been awhile, hasn't it?" He brushed his hand over Frank's again, and Frank repeated the gesture.

"Yeah…Almost four months."

"Missed you. Worried about you."

"Missed you too." Frank said, looking like he was about to cry.

"Ate anything?"

"No."

"C'mon. I'll fix you something at home. You can stay the night, maybe the weekend." Aarón began to lead the other man to his car.

"I can only stay tonight," Frank said. "M'with a friend. And he'll get suspicious if I stay longer."

"Then we better make tonight count, haven't we?" Aarón asked, laughing as he got into his truck.

They drove the three or four miles to Aarón's house. It didn't take all that long to get there, but both men were tense throughout the ride, with the need to just touch each other. But people from the hostería might have been driving by and might have seen.

Once they were safely inside, safely in the bedroom, the blue-green walls their sanctuary, Aarón leaned over and chastely kissed Frank. The chaste kissing gave way to less chaste kissing, which gave way to other things, and Frank could nearly cry of happiness. And that night, and the next morning, Aarón didn't notice the one, now two, purple spots on his lover's body.


End file.
